


First Time at Greg's

by DefiledCinephile



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blindfolds, Choking, Collars, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Play, Dungeon, Fear Play, Fucking, Kneeling, M/M, Magic Fingers, Masochism, Mindfuck, Painplay, Praise Kink, Prostate Milking, Puppy Play, Restraints, Rules, Sensory Deprivation, Service Submission, Whipping, Zippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefiledCinephile/pseuds/DefiledCinephile
Summary: Alex spends the weekend with Greg. There are house rules to learn, initiations to undergo and potential rewards to be earned along the way.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	First Time at Greg's

“It went great, mate!” Greg pulls him into the biggest of bear hugs as soon as they exit the stage. Alex hovers on tippy toes.

“Thanks, Greg.” His mumbles absorbed by his chest. Greg loosens his grip enough to hear him, and looks down, though Alex doesn’t look up. “It just wouldn’t have worked without you. _Really_ ,” he sighs. “So now I suppose it’s just a question of whether or not they want another series or if … ”

“Listen to you.” Greg pulls him tight for another second before pushing him an arm's length apart. Heels touch floor. Hands cup his shoulders. Gently, yet possessively. “Getting a little ahead of our self, are we?” He shakes him slightly, forcing him to make eye contact, “Series One _just_ wrapped - _your show, Alex!_ For fuck’s sake – there’s something seriously wrong with you if you can't – look, just - _enjoy the moment a little_.”

“He's right you know,” says Tim, gliding by their embrace.

Greg’s reluctant hands drop away. Alex straightens his unruffled clothes. “I know, I know. I'll try – to enjoy the moment more.”

“No. That there’s something _seriously_ wrong with you.” Greg and Tim exchange a smirk.

Greg spots Roisin down the hall. His eyes fall back on Alex, “Boys.” He holds his stare long enough for Alex’s face to flush. Greg gives Tim a quick nod and turns to catch up with her.

“What are you up to exactly … ?” Tim prods with a friendly curiosity. “ … With Greg?”

“ _Up to?_ ”

“Does Rachel know you fancy him?”

“Oh.” The pair watch a trailing Greg. “She knows.” They observe his over the top animated gestures as he reaches Roisin. “She happens to fancy him herself.” Alex leaves a healthy pause and watches from his peripheral as Tim first considers and then concedes this point. He takes a gulp from his water bottle, “And, well - he's fucked us both so …”

Tim spit-takes! The spew slash spray ejected mid laugh-cough forms a mist. Alex belly laughs. Suddenly aware of the number of eyes on him, Tim looks down the hall to see a few members of the crew, as well as Greg and Roisin, staring back in silent amusement. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and yells, “Yeah, I’m fine – we're good here.” He turns back to Alex and shakes his head with a smile, “You still surprise me.”

“I think your sidekick theres got a _bit_ more than a fictional crush on ya, Greg.”

“ _You think?_ ” Stone faced sarcasm quickly breaks into beaming grins as their eyes shift back down the hall. “I mean - s’pretty obvious, innit?”

“Already in the sights then, is he? Poor guy doesn’t stand much of a chance. Good choice, though. For you. He looks the sort that'd just eat up whatever you dish out.”

“Mmm, and then thank me for it. Turns out - greedy little sluts, can also be – quite polite. Just keeps crawling back for more that one … ”

Roisin, genuinely surprised by the confession, turns back toward him and swats him across the upper arm, “Greg! You fucking dog.”

“It’s actually _Alex_ that prefers to be the - ”

“No need for the deets, thanks. Well … fuck it, maybe a few.” They laugh.

Upon exiting the studio Alex notices only one car left in the lot, besides his own that is. It was Greg’s. Funny, he hadn’t seen him inside. He’s tempted to go back through the building one last time, just to see if he needed anything, but then decides against it. He should really be on his way home to Rachel and the kids. They’d be expecting him soon. And Greg, well, he was a busy guy and Alex didn’t want to pry, he had made no invitations, given no indications that he had any plans for them tonight. Perhaps he was going out for drinks with Romesh or Roisin, or maybe he felt like being alone after such a hectic studio shoot schedule. Either way, it was none of his business. Maybe that was it, he worried, for them. If the show didn’t continue, Greg would likely lose interest in him, this seemed almost a certainty. Maybe he already had. He pours over his collection of mental photographs from the last few weeks. The red curtains. The amazingly gaudy set. The thrones. It was a living dream sitting next to Greg as all his ideas and hard work came to life. And it all just seemed to make sense somehow. Greg appeared to be having a riot in his role. The contestants laughed. Teased. Tormented each other. The audience ate it up. He was making people happy. Making them smile. And it felt great. Fuck, he really hoped this wasn’t like so many other shows, a one and done that disappeared forever into the vast overpopulated mediascape. The engine sputters itself into a steady hum. He looks blankly over the steering wheel, rests his forehead on its upper curve and breathes out slowly. _Focus on the journey home,_ he reminds himself, and _enjoy the moment_ \- for everything it is, not for what it may not end up as. _Be present_.

Just as he begins to inch forward from his parking spot a hand crashes down on the hood of his car, “Oi!” Startled, he slams his foot to the brake, despite barely moving. “Where do you think you’re off to then, aye? We’ve got things to celebrate, me and you,” Greg chirps.

“Oh, well – uh - ” he stammers, “the crew went down the pub for a few pints, I wasn’t going to go but - should we just join them then?”

He leans into Alex’s window. Larger than life, he fills its entire frame and coos, “No … let’s leave them to their fun.” He catches his eyes and holds their gaze, “I thought we might go have a bit of our own.” Alex gulps. Greg’s smile spreads wickedly, until in a flash, it’s replaced by a stern smugness, “I was thinking my place.”

He pulls out his phone to text his wife. “I just need to check with Ra - ”

“No need for that, mate. It’s already sorted. You’re _all mine_.” Taps his hand against the hood. “For the weekend.”

“S-sorry – the weekend?”

He dramatically reveals a sealed taskmaster envelope. Alex's already wide eyes grow curious. “Don’t open this until later, yeah.” Greg leans further through the frame, his hand brushes lightly against his abdomen as he tucks it into his inside jacket pocket. An electric shiver courses through him. “You’ll know when.” Greg turns and heads towards his car.

Alex calls after him, a noticeable exasperation edging in, “I don’t know your address, Greg.”

"Just follow me. Proved yourself fairly good at that so far,” he bellows back.

It took roughly an hour to get from the studio lot to Greg’s, the entire time of which Alex spent wondering, and worrying … How would this whole weekend unfold? What did Greg have in mind for him? _For them?_ Was there a _them?_ What would his place be like? Would he be different on his own home turf? Would Greg kiss him or make him beg for it first? Would he fuck him? Could he earn that? Would he let him lick those shoes again? Would there be pain? Humiliation? What exactly constituted a _celebration_ to Greg? Would he be serving him _all_ weekend? “ _Would you hurry up already!?_ ” He gripes through gritted teeth, growing increasingly impatient with the calm and steady speed at which Greg drove, not budging off the limit. He follows and wonders. Daydreams and fantasizes. And suddenly, he’s there. The crunch of gravel. A modest, medium sized house. Mixed stone exterior with a steep angled metal roof. A few stone steps up to a beautifully crafted wooden patio, stained the same deep, dark cherry as the door. A simple yard. A small garden of miniature trees and shrubs. Immaculately maintained. Large, wide windows.

Greg is parked and already exiting his car as Alex pulls in behind him. As he climbs out of his own vehicle, he sees Greg walk up the steps, silently unlock his front door and slip inside – without once looking back. Alex, only a few paces behind, is stunned as the door closes in his face. What had changed during the drive? Had he said or done something earlier in the day? Was this a prank, or did he just really need to piss? Confused, and a little put out he lightly tries the knob. _It’s locked!?_ He steps back. Squints. Rings the bell, just once, for a millisecond. Nothing. “Greg?” He whispers softly against the wood. He knocks, even softer. Silence. He sulks for a moment, stubbornly staring into the wood grain, not daring to look directly at the peephole which he figured Greg must be watching him through. Was he standing right behind that fucking door? Was he laughing at him? Testing him? He must be waiting for something. He looks around and shrugs in desperation before finally reaching for his phone. His hand brushes by the taskmaster envelope in his inner pocket. He freezes. Looks up. Directly at the peephole. Thinks for a second, nods to himself and removes the red seal. It reads:

**This is my house.**  
**Take off your shoes and jacket.**  
**Remove your phone, wallet, keys and anything else you have on you.**  
**Open the box to your right.**

He glances to his right. There is a sizeable wooden box with a flip latch, it’s closed, but unlocked. He slips off his jacket and lays it out. Unties his laces. Pulls off his shoes. Slides his cell, keys and wallet inside them and places his folded jacket on top. He unclasps his watch and tucks it inside the breast pocket of his jacket. A neat bundle. He opens the box. Inside there is a collar with another, much smaller, task attached. Barely able to contain himself - he picks it up, opens it, this one reads:

**Put this on.**  
**Place all your possessions inside this box.**  
**Kneel. And wait for me.**  
**DO NOT SPEAK***

***unless necessary**

Alex notices the quality of the leather and sniffs at it slightly; catching the _Little Alex Horne_ burnt on the inside, he fastens it around his throat with a small smile. He transfers his package of possessions into the box and takes a step back allowing room for the door to open before wantonly dropping to his knees. A few minutes pass as Alex wonders whether or not Greg is in fact watching him through that peephole, or was he simply enjoying a cup of tea, in another room entirely? If he was watching him, was he pleased with what he saw? What’s the expression on his face? Sinister, or smiling? Knowing Greg a bit better at this point, it likely fell somewhere in the middle. How long would he make him wait for? Had he done everything properly? Are there any nosy neighbours discussing why a man is kneeling in front of Davies’ house? The more minutes that pass, the more his confidence begins to waver. And the more his self consciousness edges back in, the more he wiggles the toes of his pink striped socks. Poorly masking pure anticipation.

The door flies open! Alex flinches, but immediately fixes his posture. His anxious, desire laden mind so obviously in overdrive. Greg flips the lid of the box down loudly, locks it and takes it inside. Alex watches him walk down the hallway. A delicious slow reveal of his intimidating stature. Between the vaulted ceilings and Alex’s lowered viewpoint Greg was truly an immense figure. A few minutes pass before he returns, one hand full of _something_. With eyes averted, more and more of him disappears as he approaches until it’s just _those shoes_.

Greg squats down and attaches a leash to his collar, his hand grazing a lazy path down his arm. Fingers find and focus in on his wedding ring. He rubs at it with his thumb, spins it, “What do you suppose we do about this, Alex? I mean, it doesn’t come off, am I right? You didn’t put it in the box because … because it’s not your possession to part with, is it? Just like this - ” Snaps the leash to emphasize his point, “ – collar belongs to _me_ to indicate when at _my_ house you are _my_ possession, this ring belongs to Rachel, to indicate that you are _always_ her possession. Isn’t that right, Alex?” He nods in agreement. “We’ll simply call it _a part of you_ then, okay? It can stay on when you visit.” His sweet, sultry tone instantly erases any and all upset Alex had felt about the weird welcome. _When you visit_ , the words reverberated beautifully throughout his head. Alex breathed a sigh of relief – it was almost as if Greg had instantly recognized and easily assuaged much of his earlier worries, that regardless of whether their show was renewed or not, _they_ didn’t have to be a one and done.

Greg stands. “Now - not sure I can trust you not to sneak a peek - so … ” He places a blindfold over his eyes. The soft, velvety interior plunges him into a void. A complete blackout. It’s extremely jarring. Usually he could still make out a strip of muted light, or some small corner of reality, _something_ to ground him, but with these - _nothing_. “You'll have access to the rest of my house in the morning, but for tonight, there’s only one room you'll be seeing.” Alex’s impulse is to stand as Greg steps inside and the leash makes its initial, yet still unexpected tug at his throat, “Did I _say_ stand up?” He shrinks back down immediately and continues forward on all fours. “That’s better. Yeah, just like that – _who’s my pretty little puppy, hmm?_ ” The door closes with a click. A lock is flicked. He tenses up. Stiff, uneven breaths, his heartbeat all a-flutter. Greg senses his hesitation and lightens the mood a little by flirtatiously purring, “Don’t start playing coy with me now, Alex. I know you _live_ to be at my feet.” He lightly steps onto his left hand. “Go on, kiss.” Alex sinks down until his nose brushes the leather. “But don’t go getting greedy, now - you only get one. Better make it count.” Languorously, and with a breathy moan to emphasize his appreciation, he enjoys a single wide-mouthed and wanton kiss. His mind relaxes as Greg continues forward, but his body moves tentatively alongside his much larger strides.

It was hardwood down a long hallway. A glossy finish beneath his fingers, slippery on his socks and lemony fresh. They turn right onto plush carpeting - so soft. There was a woodsy smell. Then another quick right. He hears a deadbolt slide and metal shifting. A loud creaking. They continue forward again. Was this … tile? No … cold cement. The door squeals, and then slams closed with a heavy thud.

“Well, here we are, with the whole night ahead of us. Let’s celebrate.” Greg’s voice seemed to echo more in this space, a resounding boom whose intonation was even harder to nail down without sight - each choice of word was that much more cutting, each cruelty crystal clear. He hears a champagne bottle cork pop and fly off into the distance. He hears it fizz as foam drips down the bottle and lands near his hands. Greg takes a swig and sighs, “Congratulations, pal.” Takes another swig, “ _Ooh!_ You know what - this is _quite_ a good bottle. Oh, go on then, join me for a toast, Alex. Show me some tongue.” The very second he does, Greg grabs him roughly by the hair, and barks, “To us!” as he drags his mouth through the champagne foam puddle “Mmm, yeah … Cheers, mate.” Greg sneers, lips brushing his ear. “Remind you of anything?”

 _All these incessant questions!_ It suddenly occurs to Alex that Greg is waiting for him to fuck up – just once - and answer, waiting to hear him accidentally respond. To catch him up on forgetting the rules, for disobeying direct instructions. This revelation only arouses Alex all the more, completely captivated, he thinks to himself, _That’s why he’s phrasing almost everything as the start to a conversation he knows I can’t finish, or even contribute to._ Now that Alex felt he better understood Greg’s game, he did not plan on losing at it.

There is a gentle tug at Alex’s collar, “Up.” He hears Greg unclip the leash and toss it to the side. Whilst finding his feet, Alex is surprised to feel the champagne bottle pressed against his lips. Greg’s hand cradles the back of his head as he dips it backward and pours out a massive swig. Alex coughs and sputters, not ready for the sheer volume, before finally managing to swallow most of it down. Greg tastes his lips, then kisses him more deeply. “What does it take to break you, I wonder? Well, I suppose that’s what we're about to find out, _innit?_ Tonight is all about testing you, what you can take, how _much_ you can take, how _well_ you can take it - for me. You know I really liked being with Rachel and you at yours, but you’ll come to understand, Alex, there are very different rules here, in my house, that you _will follow_. I'll teach you what _I_ _like_ , what _I_ expect. I'll train you exactly how to please _me_ , to _serve me_ \- ” Alex’s body melts obviously before him “yeah, I can already tell … you’ll like that part the most won’t you – you just want to make me happy, hmm?” He pours him another swig and immediately slaps him across the cheek sending out a spray of champagne mist reminiscent of Tim’s earlier one. He snickers. Alex can’t help the giddy giggle that escapes him. Greg voice swiftly switches, “Having a bit of a laugh now, are we!?”

His fingers play around his neck before tightening. “Well - ” Loosening. Tightening. His fingers an all-encompassing force. He backs him up against the door, cushioning his cranium from any unintended impact with his other hand. “I can put a stop to that pretty quick.” Alex's hands, unsure of where to settle, skitter across the wood, tracing grooves in the grain. “I love to watch your anxious little fingers fidget when you’re nervous.” He increases the pressure to his throat, in small increments, until a low cough is emitted. “And I love to hear you choke like that. In fact, you make all sorts of delicious noises I quite enjoy.” He kisses him with a sensuousness that melts Alex’s heart. He whimpers softly as Greg pulls away. “ _Oh!_ There's another one now. Tonight will be very different from other times you visit. First times always are.” He tightens his grip again, achingly slow. “Certain things however, will stay the same. If you are in my house you will wear _this_ collar.” His index and middle fingers skim along either side of the leather. Two tender touches. “You’ll hand yourself over to me, completely - along with all your things. When you leave, you will return the collar and I will return all you’ve handed over. Until your next visit.” His hands momentarily leave his throat to stroke his face and hair in a rough and humiliating fashion, distorting his features, making funny faces. His fingers rub across his lips, his meaty palm cutting off his breathing for a short second. “Starting tomorrow morning, you may speak - when spoken to – I encourage it. But for tonight, only if absolutely necessary – which means one, tropical fruity word – understood?” Alex nods. “Good boy.” Greg's gravelled voice is low in his ear as his hand oozes back to his throat, “Well, Alex – about time you see where you'll be spending the night, no? _Hint_ \- it’s my favourite room in the house.” He pulls off the blindfold to reveal his dungeon.

“Do you like … ” Alex is doubly stunned. First, as his retinas sting with the sudden change in light, and secondly at the sheer sight of this space as it slowly blinks its way into visibility. Flickering eyes begin to take it all in. Terrified. Turned on. Greg’s hand slips away from his throat. Reds and blacks. Leather. Metal. Steel and copper. From one angle it looked luxurious, from another - absolutely horrific. The design felt modern, but the pieces themselves quite classic. Immacutely clean. One wall home to a vast array of canes and whips, a few he’d never encountered before. Benches and boxes. A throne. “Hey - ” he snaps, with both voice and fingers, “Focus … ” He drops a bucket of wooden clothes pins at his feet, it clangs against the cement. “On the task at hand.” He begins to unspool some twine. Alex squints in confusion, at the bucket, at Greg and the twine. He looks around one more time. Greg chides, “Don’t go getting distracted, now - _Alex_.” His cock twitches as his name spills off his tongue in such a lascivious way.

“I’ve been reliably informed you've never had a zipper before – so this’ll be – so much fun. For me.” He sits down in the throne, lewd eyes wander his body as he crosses his legs. “Take off your clothes and bring them to me.” He watches on as Alex slowly strips, delighted by his shamelessness, but also by the consistently selfless sincerity with which he carried himself. Alex carefully folds everything into a neat pile, hooks his arm through the handle of the bucket and approaches Greg, clothes bundle in hand. “Set them there.” Greg stands, he shrinks. “Now, let’s see here … ” He pokes his fingers along his chest, his belly, his thighs - counting all the while. Alex shivers. At being examined. Exposed. “We’ll do thirty. Fifteen for each side, now that is _a lot_ for a first go, but for _you_ ... ” Alex smiles as his fingers trace two lines down his body. He kicks the bucket, “Count them out for me.” He points at a side table as he cuts two pieces of twine identical in length. “Can you figure out how this goes yet, Alex?” He shakes his head no. “Pretty soon you will. Hand me two.” He ties one end of the strand securely to the clothes pin, feeds it through the centre and pinches it onto Alex’s upper chest leaving a long twine tail. He does the same with the second, only mirrored on the other side. “You see they don’t really hurt very much when they first go on, they hurt _much more_ when they come off, don’t they? When the blood comes surging back.” He pinches the skin with pins in two lines down his chest, across his belly and along his thighs, each time trapping the twine between the pin and skin until fifteen dotted each side. “There. That looks quite nice. Two steps back.” Greg sits down taking the two reins of twine left over into his hands and checks the tautness of the line. Alex, fully understanding his predicament at this point, winces at the slight tugs to the lower pins – and smiles a little, now knowing exactly what was coming. Greg drapes the reins across the arms of the throne and leans forward. “You smile when you’re nervous, hmm? Laugh when you’re scared?” Alex nods and shakes it off his face. Apologetic eyes. Certain pins are already beginning to sting, especially the ones nearest his nipple and inner thigh.

He stands, stalks up and tweaks a few pins, flicks at others, twists one and keenly observes as Alex holds his breath. “I’ve seen you doing that before, you know holding your breath actually makes the pain worse. You should try and breathe evenly, but especially when the pain is at its worst.” He slaps the pin nearest his left nipple and watches as Alex tries his best to take a measured breath. “Good. Now, I can say with some certainty that you'll be unable to stay quiet during all this, but I do not want to hear words, yeah? So feel it, don’t express it.” Alex nods, game face on, mentally preparing himself for the ensuing pain. Greg takes his seat and smiles a toothy grin. “There’re two ways these can come off, I wasn’t sure which you'd like better, so we'll just have to try one of each.” He watches him, for quite a long while, before gently winding the left line around his fist - until it’s taut. “Okay, Alex - here’s the tortoise, slow … and steady … ” He pulls the left line at an agonizing pace. He feels each pin as it pulls away from his skin, individual tugs, yanks and snaps. A near constant searing pain stitches it’s way up his left side, broken only by Alex’s panted exhales. He looks up at a beaming Greg and tries desperately to correct his breathing, though a series of anxious inhales are all he can manage. “And then … it’s fast like the hare!” He rips the right line and they all shoot off in under a second, a series of sharp snaps and the scattering of wooden pegs striking the floor. There is a short delay in his response and then, all at once, the flood hits him. He lets out a laboured wail as a series of mostly-involuntary movements overtakes him. It felt as though he had been ripped open. Torn apart. The blood rushed back with such a force. It was adrenalizing. It was – some sort of dopamine inducing drug - a highly addictive feeling – for someone like him. It was a sensation he had never ever felt. A truly bizarre tearing open of his entire self.

His muscles still dancing to their own tempo, Alex looks down at the zipper marks, runs his finger along one lightly, and winces. He attempts to collect himself and returns to his position in front of Greg. “So you can actually scream. I was beginning to wonder about that.” Greg pets him, soothingly, as Alex tries to calm his still spastic frame. He leans his head heavily into Greg’s hand, but it does nothing to mute the pain across his front. Greg pinches one of the teeth marks, and Alex let’s out a guttural “MmmmmmmmphfffFFUUUCKkkhaaaah!” Instantly, Greg stops. His glare is menacing. Terrified, sorry eyes stare back. “Uh-oh. Alex … _Pretty sure_ I heard a word in there, didn’t I?” Alex makes the smallest of nods. “Yeah … looks like you _fuuuuucked_ up aye? And just when we were starting to have so much fun - you just had to go and spoil it, hmm?”

Greg stoops down to pick up the blindfold. Back on it goes. He seizes both his wrists with one hand and pins them tight to his back as he perp walks him through the space. He is thrust up against a large wooden box. His wrists are released, he hears hinges moan, “Get in there. Now. Get going.” He's given an encouraging spank. Alex climbs inside, awkwardly, Greg’s hands bracing him to ensure a safe entry. Once inside, his ankles are quickly buckled into the corners, “I make rules for a reason Alex,” he chastises as he moves on to his wrists, “There’ll be repercussions when you can’t follow simple instructions.” He wants to shout out but knows better, he wants reassurance but resolves to rely on trust. He closes his eyes tight under the blindfold as his second wrist is secured tightly into the final corner. Ashamed at his slip-up. Fully understanding now why Greg had mentioned the importance of proper breathing techniques multiple times. Ear buds are twisted lightly into his ears, “In a moment you won’t be able to hear me, but I assure you – I can hear you.” He feels the thud as the lid slams above him. A momentary claustrophobic panic seizes his spread eagle frame. _Breathe evenly. You can trust Greg. You're okay – just breathe._

Greg walks to a nearby table. Grabs a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a stethoscope. He pops his phone from his pocket, selects a playlist entitled SENSORY DEPRIVATION and links it to the wireless buds below. He hops heavily onto the box. Alex's body jars inside. It had been comforting - being able to hear Greg’s movements, but as a song begins to play, true isolation sets in, and a fear enters his mind – one that was hard to name and even harder to quell. Greg lies back across the top of the box. He places the scope down and slips them into his ears, silently listening for any sounds - of crying, of distress, of hyperventilation. He smiles to himself and checks his phone. He was a few minutes into his half hour playlist. Greg lights a cigarette and enjoys a few lovely drags before swinging his body up into a seated position. He slips from atop the box and finishes it off as he tidies up the space a little, making sure to check back with the stethoscope every few minutes or so. He could hear him in there - having an increasingly tougher time – every time, but he was consciously working on his breathing - he was clearly uncomfortable, maybe even suffering some, but he was handling it. Greg watches his phone as the playlist runs out. He allows a solid minute of silence to elapse before opening the box – allowing Alex to feel the real nothingness, total silence, now that even the last comfort of a melody had been stripped away. It works, the pangs of panic Alex had fought hard to subdue surge back until – the hinges groan. The ear buds are plucked out and the blindfold is removed. “I trust you've learned your lesson,” he chides, as he unbuckles his ankles, then wrists, and lifts him out of the box. He sets him down, on shaky legs, checks him over carefully and searches his face, his eyes told the whole story – he was deep in it now. Greg gently guides him to yet another area of this surreal space.

He unlocks a door in the corner, revealing a small bathroom. “It would be a good idea for you to go now, while I'm giving you the choice. It may be a bit.” Alex steps inside and lightly clicks the door closed behind him. He glances around at the simple set up as he takes a piss. There is another connecting door inside that catches his interest. He turns on the faucet, and curiosity getting the better of him, tries the knob undercover of the rush of running water. It’s unlocked. He cracks it open - just a sliver, that plush woodsiness from earlier, they had passed through here, through what was almost definitely Greg’s bedroom. Dark woods. Brooding colours. A huge four poster bed draped in gold satin sheets. Quickly and quietly, he _thinks_ , he closes the door, turns the water off and returns to Greg - who waits patiently, with a suspicious glint to his eye. He offers him a glass of water, Alex accepts and drinks it down, holding the glass with both hands like a child. Greg sees over his shoulder that the door to his room is ajar. The sadistic smile that sweeps over him says everything as he watches Alex take another sip. He manages to restrain himself, just long enough to calmly escort his cohort to a nearby raised table.

He allows Alex to finish his water, to gaze in awe a little at the wall of toys before him, then he sets the glass aside. He turns him around and whispers behind his ear, “Shoulder width apart,” as he gently nudges Alex’s insteps with the toe of his shoes. He examines his stance a second and says, “Hands face down.” He taps at the stainless steel. “Make sure you’re comfortable – we can’t have you moving about too much.” He slides a small pillow between his hips and the edge of the table. His voice grows further away. “It’s been a long time since I had someone like you - to play with. I’ve acquired a few new toys since then, but tragically - I’ve had no one to break them in on. Until now, yeah? And then there’s this … ” Alex feels a leather tail cinch tightly around his throat. Pulling his hands from their position and drawing him into his chest, again hovering on tippy toes. “I’ve actually had this for such a long time, ages really, just never had anyone who could take quite so much in the pain department.” His cock goes rock hard as Greg releases his grip, his feet and hands falling back into their assigned positions. He takes a deep breath, but it comes out rather ragged. Greg sneers, “You really are such a slut for it, you do know that, Alex.” He coils the single tail whip up and sets it between his hands for inspection. “This is far too severe for most. But not for you, aye? No … you love all the pain I give you – that I _gift_ you. Do you know what this is?” Alex nods. “Have you ever been whipped with one?” He shakes his head. A pleased sigh escapes Greg. “The masochist in there is about to be in for a real treat then,” he purrs running a finger down his spine. “Just like with the cane, it’s really important you do not move. Understood?” He nods, again, conscious to lax and loosen his muscles. Greg grasps the whips handle and steps backward, the leather slowly uncoiling and falling from between his hands, until the tip glides off the table's edge. He snakes it back and forth, starting at his calves and working his way up to his ass and then back down, slowly building up the intensity, the vicious tip catching on the outsides of his legs and ass. Back and forth. Up and down. He can hear the leather’s length begin to slice through the air with more speed. He fights hard not to flinch, not to move. To accept the rhythm that Greg is setting and to anticipate the strikes accordingly. Then, the direct strikes start up – with their own signature sting and snap. And Alex falls headlong into pain brain. Each crack of the whip felt as though it were breaking skin, he didn’t have time to process one searing spot before there was another stealing its focus, and then another, and another – the effect of this crescendo was becoming too much for him to handle. He catches his own reflection in the stainless steel, glazed over sex-drunken eyes stare back. He bites at his lower lip and squeezes his eyes shut. He sniffs as a tear he hadn’t noticed forming runs down his cheek. Greg continues. Alex’s lips purse to form a P. He swallows hard – his mind slowly losing out to his body. It almost slips from his lips multiple times - _pineapple … pineapple … pineapple …_ It would be so easy, so simple, it could all be over, but he knew deep down he didn’t want it to be over, not really – so he fought every bodily urge to flee in favour of facing it. “Good boy, Alex. You really are pretty tough – just not gonna cave, are you? I can tell you really want to yell, to swear, to beg me to stop, hmm? As I can recall you’re quite the potty mouth when you're processing – is it hard, hmm? To hold that _filthy_ \- _fucking_ \- _tongue_?” Greg winces as the tail’s tip catches the centre of his tailbone. He hears Alex wheeze, and begin to cry softly, his muscles quaking on cemented limbs. He approaches Alex, running a kind hand across his raw skin, his thumbs wiping away any collected moisture along his cheeks. “You okay?” He nods into his hands. “I don’t like to end on a bad one.” He returns to his position, but allows Alex a moment to fully compose himself before working him up one last time. An increasing rhythm that grew progressively stronger, until he could see Alex, once more, lean into the pain. “That’s it, getting your second wind now I see.”

He slips the pillow from his hips and places it on the table. He pulls his body upright, hugged comfortingly to his chest, Greg was hard and hot against his back. He turns him, tilts his face and catches his welled eyes. “You make me very happy, Alex.” He presses a kiss to his forehead and pops his ass up onto the table. The cold steel against his tender marks makes his body tense up. “Is it about time little sluts got a treat - I think you’ve earned yourself a bit of a reward, yeah?” He relaxes as Greg’s hands settle his head back onto the pillow, lovingly caressing his chest, his ribs, his abdomen. Greg slides one of his legs over his shoulder, slicks two fingers and plunges them inside. “Don’t clench, relax _everything_ for me. Good boy.” His fingers curve up pressing against his prostate. Running circles along and around that swollen, sensitive little lemon-shaped gland. An overwhelming pleasure falls over him in waves. He vibrates. Groans. His dick dances as pre-come strands stretch out sticking to his belly. “Feels like you’re gonna piss, yeah? You see now why I made you go, it only feels that way I promise you. Or is that not it? I mean … why else do you keep looking down at this pathetic fucking cock, is it because - you think you’ve just come? Because I can assure you, you haven’t – and you won’t – not as long as my finger stays on this special spot – _the good ol’ P spot, aye_ \- maybe I’ll just keep you right here – on the brink – and never ever let you come again.” Alex searches Greg’s face with desperate, pleading eyes. Greg smiles wryly, “It really feels like you’re about to hmm, but you just can’t – _quite_ \- get there? Look at you. I haven’t touched that cock _once_ , this entire night, you do know that, don’t you, Alex? You just want so badly for me to finish you off, to get you there, hmm, but can’t you see - then it’s all just - over. And we wouldn’t want that. _This_ , is really the best bit, right _before_ you blow. Edging it. Endlessly. Let’s just make this last bit - last forever, shall we.” Alex's eyes now frantic, his body consistently convulsing with overstimulation. “ _No?_ Oh, okay … you know what, I'm feeling generous, maybe I will let you come, it is your big night after all.” His fingers are replaced by his cock. Alex winces as he slides in, giving him the sweet dick him for some time. He grinds Alex’s hips against him as he thrusts deeper, nearly pulling all the way out before pushing back in. The pressure building up was so intense. His hand grips Alex’s cock tightly - and he can tell instantly - that it was all over for him – a few flicks of the wrist and a squeeze to the head and Alex erupts with a jolt and a whimper. “Messy, messy boy,” Greg jeers as he smears it across his chest. “Mmm, I can’t wait to show you off, Alex. Share you with all my friends. You'll like that won’t you? Entertaining all my guests? Yeah … they’re really gonna like you. And you'll do whatever they ask you to - because you just wanna keep me happy, hmm?” Alex smiles and nods despite his physical exhaustion. Greg’s tempo increases, as does the force of the fuck. “But don’t worry - I'll only let them have a small taste, just a nibble, I can’t have anyone stealing you away from me. No … I’ve looked for too long - for someone exactly like you, Alex - I'm never gonna let you go now - gonna keep you locked up here forever - waiting for me - _Fuck!_ \- I'll use this body however I see fucking fit. You like being my loyal little puppy, hmm? My little service slut, yeah? Gonna have to make you my official little toy tester too. _Ahh, fuck!_ When you’re here – you’re _all_ _fucking_ _mine - don’t – you - fucking - forget it._ ” Greg grunts, his hands clawing roughly at his body as he comes.

He slides his cock back into his pants, a somber wash to his face as he zips them up. He scoops Alex up into his arms, grabbing the pillow with his spare scissored fingers and carries him over to a low-lying, thickly padded bench. He lays him out, on his back, cradling the pillow beneath his head. He squats down at the end of the bench. Coaxes his hands towards him, arms stretched out above him, against the bench. He kisses the palm of each as he slips them into a pair of bondage mittens, which he then fastens securely to two rings at the front of the table. Greg gives him enough slack - to change sleeping positions if he preferred or in case he got an itch, but not enough to escape – though he highly doubted Alex was the type to even try. He drapes a blanket over his feet, pulls it up to his shoulders and perches himself on the bench near Alex’s belly. Reaching across him, he wraps the edges around his toes tightly, rubbing vigorously to warm them up. “Well, looks like you’re all tucked in for the night.” He reaches across his other half to examine the glove and the circulation in his wrists. _He wasn’t actually spending the night like this!? He wasn’t going to leave him here – alone!?_ Alex's uneasy eyes shoot up at him, pleading, begging, but Greg ignores all this. “I guess you must be tired, probably too tired really, to call and say goodnight to your wife.” Alex stiffens. _Would she be angry, upset with him? Did Greg tell her – about his rules? Was this planned all along?_ He fights hard to quell his upset, his anger as he watches Greg pull out his phone. “We wouldn’t want her to worry, now would we - so I'll just give her a quick ring – on your behalf.” He scrolls for a second. There is a distant ringing. “Rachel - sorry, I didn’t disturb you, did I? Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to wish you sweet dreams since your inconsiderate shit of a husband here didn’t remember to. No, well I suppose he’s been a little tied up, what with all the celebrating we’ve been getting up to but, yeah - he’s right here.” He squats down, extends the phone to Alex, glares at him for a moment, with furrowed brow, “No … ? Nothing to say … ?” It’s a challenge. A final test. Alex’s breath catches and he begins to weep. He tries to look away from the phone’s screen but his range of movement is limited. The sobbing shakes his frame. Greg pulls his phone back. “Oh, no – not at all. You know me, Rachel, I've been nothing but kind and accommodating to your sweet little boy since he arrived.” Tears dotting the bench beneath him, Alex’s lip twitches, but he bites back all words. “Poor baby - just can’t seem to form sentences at the moment, aye.” Greg dries his tears with the back of his sleeve. “Hmm … ? Oh, I suppose I could allow that, for you. We'll get together soon, yeah?” Greg holds out the phone near Alex’s ear.

“Alex … ?” Her voice was enchanting, it hurt his heart to not answer her. “You’ll keep being good for Greg, _for me_ , won’t you?” She left a small pause that took all his willpower not to fill. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.” She hangs up.

Greg stands and tucks his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll be near by. But, I guess you already know that.” Alex gulps, guiltily. “Thought I wouldn’t notice, hmm?” He chastises, checking his wrists one last time and bending down to growl into his ear, “I know you fucking peeked. When you were having that piss. I knew it - such a _sneak_.” The light flicks out. The door clicks closed. Though it somehow seemed a world apart, it did help knowing Greg was right on the other side of the wall. And so sleep overtakes him - faster than he thinks - feeling not only physically exhausted but also, rather lulled, what with Rachel's sweet words and Greg’s tight tuck-in he felt – weirdly - properly loved. It was a broken and not entirely restful sleep, but he did manage to doze off for much of the night.

“Alex … ” he whispers, removing his hands from the mittens,  
“Alex, are you okay?” He nods and breathes a sigh of relief before opening his eyes. Greg takes Alex’s hands into his own. He massages his fingers, his palms, his wrists, finger testing for circulation, running his hands up and down his arms – breathing life back into the muscles and skin. Greg guides his arms to rest upon his chest, crosses them, hugging him with his own limbs. He slides down next to him and helps him to sit up, Alex slumps back heavily against his shoulder. “Did you get any sleep?” Alex is confused how to properly respond to that. “It’s the morning now, mate. You made it, okay. You can answer me - with words.”

He yawns. “I think so. Got a little sleep, sir.” His voice small, his mind groggy.

“You were such a good boy for me last night.” He pets him, pressing him further into his shoulder. “And you’ll be sleeping much better tonight.”

“Thank you. For the celebration, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. You deserved it – _all of it._ How’s that ass feel this morning?”

“Bit tender, but mostly just nice.”

“Let’s have a look then.” Greg pulls him across his lap to examine the area. He runs soft, slow hands along the single tail bites - strokes full of kindness and caring. Delicate fingers. His calm, comforting air was penetrating. “Ooh … this was a good one, right here. I think Rachel will be _very pleased_ with you - when you show her all these beautiful marks – when I tell her just how _much_ you took last night, and how _well_ you took it - when I tell her all about what a servile little slut you've been for me. Very pleased indeed.” Deep purples and blues have replaced the red welts of last night. The stippled speckles that dot his ass resemble a map of the stars.

“Come on, up you get.”

As Alex follows him out of the dungeon, he looks back to where he had just spent the night, it was far less scary in the light of day – especially now that he noticed there was a baby monitor built into the wall near where he'd slept. Out through Greg’s bedroom, which was even more grandiose now that he could see more than a mere sliver. Down the hardwood hallway and into a spacious bathroom with a tiled, walk-in shower, large, body length mirror and a huge hot tub. Greg turns the faucets on, tests the water. The room immediately begins to fill with steam. “Have a nice, long shower, yeah – get yourself all cleaned up. There’s a change of clothes on the shelf there - I picked them up from Rachel last week - and here’s a fresh towel. There’re a bunch of toothbrushes and shit in there, help yourself – just gonna pop out to get us some breakfast – be right back. You can have the full tour after that.” Alex blushes at the kindness, but is too bombarded by it all to say anything. Greg disappears. He has a much needed piss. Then, revels in the rejuvenating heat of the shower. Using Greg’s soap, his shampoo, it was all strangely comforting. The steam soothed his sore muscles and he was beginning to feel more awake, more oriented. After drying off, Alex admires his marks, over his shoulder, in the mirror. He smiles to himself, now knowing which one Greg had referred to as a _good one_. Rachel had picked out his favourite jeans and a comfortable sweater, one that she always said really brought out his eyes, as he pulls them on, he hears Greg return. He slinks from the bathroom and into the kitchen, where Greg was just pulling up a chair. He looks him up and down and smiles as he sits down.

There were a stack of individually wrapped sandwiches. Two large coffees and a handful of sugars and creamers strewn across the table. “I’m no chef. Place around the corner makes these – it’s like a fried egg, but on a croissant – and they’ve got this mustard mayonnaise stuff they slap on there - they’re highly addictive. Hope it hits the spot.”

“Looks great. Thank you, sir.” He adds a creamer and half a packet of sugar into one cup, stirs it vigorously and hands it to Greg. He tosses two creamers into his own coffee and clutches it close as he pulls a parchment wrapped sandwich towards him, and then another. He takes a seat and belts back half his coffee. Greg sips at his own, bemused by how quickly Alex scarfs down the two sandwiches – and then, sheepishly, reaches for a third.

As he had, at this point, seen and set foot in almost every room in his home, the _tour_ , was really more of a set of house rules:

Greg strode from the kitchen, speaking matter-of-factly, as Alex traipsed behind, listening intently. “You’ve earned yourself full access to my entire home, everything, inside and out – with _two_ _exceptions_.” He stops at the foot of his bed and looks back, a severity to his tone. “My bedroom, and that includes the box which stays just there, by my bed. And - ” he gestures to the inner door, “The dungeon. _I_ will decide when you have access to _my_ dungeon. You will not be playing around in here or snooping about in there. Got it? If I’m not in here, you’re not in here.”

Alex nods and continues to trail behind as Greg points out some backyard features, storage units and showed him where to find various items in the kitchen and bathroom. Finally they made their way into the one room he hadn’t seen at all so far. The sitting room – it had a beautiful wide window, the warm rays of sunlight bleeding into the space gave it a golden glow. “I thought this could be your cupboard, for you to keep a change of clothes - at least for now anyway.” He opens the doors. Inside there is only one item hanging up, a suit. Black and white. Modern. Minimalist, but well tailored. And a pair of deep red leather shoes sitting below. “You seem to enjoy flashy footwear – Rachel assured me you’d had your eyes on this pair. You’ll wear this suit while you’re here, this is the uniform that Rachel and I have picked out for you.”

He sits down in a cozy chair by the window. It’s bathed in the warm sun. He crosses his legs. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, sir. I love it.”

“Any questions?”

“Well – uh, actually, yeah – it’s just – last night you – umm – ”

“Spit it out, Alex.”

“Are you – actually going to _share me_ with - ?”

“My friends? Absolutely. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, sir. It’s just … ”

“Alex – listen to me - carefully. In this house your limits will always be respected, and can be amended if needed – at any time. Anyone I may invite into my home, anyone you might encounter here, or in the dungeon knows and can be trusted to follow _all_ the rules. Anyone who plays with you _will_ respect those - and you. But don’t you worry, Alex – I don’t let just anyone play with my things. Is there anything else?”

“Shall I put this on now, then?” He asks referring to his new uniform.

“No. You can stay in your comfies for today - you've had a hard night. We'll start all that on your next visit. I’m just gonna finish up a book here, do what you like until - ” he checks his watch. “ooh let’s say - noon.”

“Could I just curl up with you til then, sir?”

“If you like.” Greg sidemouths a genuine smile.

Alex takes a seat at his feet, arms hugged around one leg, his head resting against his knee. Every so often Greg runs his hand along his neck, his face, his hair. A couple of hours pass as the sun lulls him into a meditative restfulness.

Alex urges his eyes open and peers over his kneecap, “Would you like some lunch now, sir?”

“I’ve left a list of what we'll have for lunch and a menu of what to make for dinner – it’s on the kitchen counter. You'll find all the stuff you need.” Alex shifts to stand but Greg holds him firmly in place with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Pretty good internal clock you've got there, but it’s not quite noon. Five minutes to spare. Do you really want to rush off just yet?”

“No, sir.”

“No … ” He continues to pet him, “How do you like the collar I picked for you?”

“It’s the perfect fit, sir. Thank you. ” Greg smiles, he turns the page and continues with his book.

A few moments pass, moments he was glad he hadn’t passed up. “Okay. Up you get.” A gentle spank to his ass. “Come and fetch me when you’ve finished.”

He prepares two plates of welsh rarebit for lunch and a pot of tea. While waiting for the sauce to thicken, he scores and dry rubs a small beef roast and leaves it at room temperature to soak up the salt. He searches about and locates the rest of the ingredients for dinner. Places them on the counter and plates up the lunch, tops the toasts with the piping hot sauce, some black pepper and a few slices of tomato on the side. He pours two perfect cups of tea and dashes down the hall to get Greg. They enjoy their meal.

“You could sell that. Delicious.” Greg pushes his plate forward and sips at his tea. Alex collects the other dishes and moves towards the sink.

“Sir? I found some orange juice, honey, garlic - a few other things that compliment the dinner menu, if you'd like I could juug up our carrots and mash a little with your pantry stuff - unless of course you prefer it plain.”

Greg stands, and sips, looking at the roast. “Juug away. I'm not picky with food, just don’t know what goes with what or – the basics really. I mean, this roast looks like it belongs on a fucking magazine cover.” It sat atop a bed of onions, with criss-cross scored fat and a red and black rub coating its flesh. “I’ve tried your food, if you say it goes together I’ll take your word for it – you’ve obviously got the touch.” Alex smiles deeply, blushes and looks away.

Dinner is also a hit and afterwards Greg stands from the table, grabbing a bottle of Prosecco and pouring two glasses …

“Here’s to your show, to Taskmaster! And _hopefully_ to another series. But most importantly - here’s to you, Alex. You are endlessly imaginative. Absolutely selfless. Warm, with such a kind heart. You enrich everything you touch with your amiable attitude. It’s contagious. I find you to be just so - _genuine_. Seriously mate, you are a real rarity. To you, Alex.” Greg tips back some of the sweet nectar.

Alex blinks back a tear and takes a small sip in solidarity. “Can I give you a hug, Greg – sir?”

Greg opens his arms wide with a welcoming smile.

The rest of the night was a quiet, snuggly affair. They played a game of scrabble, sat in the backyard enjoying the breeze, as well as a few cigarettes, before cuddling up on his couch to watch a film.

“Bedtime I should think.” He stands, stretching. Alex looks at the couch and then at Greg, who laughs lightly, “I guess I forgot to mention the sleeping arrangements, hmm? You'll sleep in my room when you visit. Come on.” Alex follows him back to the foot of Greg’s bed. “You see - ” he points to a luxurious dog bed, “I've already got you your own bed, it’s quite nice like that, right alongside mine. Don’t you think?”

“Thank you sir. _For everything_. I'm not sure what else to say.” His mind was awash with it all – the suit, the shoes, his kind words and little comforting touches, the loving gestures and now this bed.

“Actions speak louder than words, Alex. I thought you would have learned that after last night.” Greg undresses and sits on the edge of the bed. “Take off your clothes and come here. Now. And never mind about being neat. Just - come to bed – puppy.” He peels his clothes off quickly and falls onto all fours, crawling toward Greg’s spread legs. He’s holding the base of his already hard cock. “Show me how else we say thank you.” Alex takes him as deep as he can. He finds a good position to take almost all of Greg, which was quite the accomplishment at this angle. Greg seizes the sides of his head and begins to fuck his face. Relentlessly. And he does not let up, not even when Alex gags and chokes, not even when he tries to pull his body backward – his hands continue to hold him firmly in place.

“Good - boy.” He groans as he comes down his throat.

He's handed a pillow and a comforter as Greg gets the lights. He stretches out in his dog bed, alongside Greg, whose hand trails off the side of the bed. He strokes his hair and scratches the back of his neck as he drifts off – they would both sleep a lot better tonight.


End file.
